Duke: Dark College Bully Romance (Bastards of Bainbridge Hall Book 3)
Duke: Chapter 2

Flashes of darkness and flickers of light. My head is a horrific disco nightmare, thumping to the beat of nonexistent music. There’s an odd strobe effect every time I attempt to open my eyes that’s both jarring and disconcerting. It’s probably for the best that my eyelids are so heavy I can’t hold them open for more than a few moments at a time. Keep them shut. Don’t throw up. It’ll all stop soon. But I can’t track the passage of time because it’s simply a fucking awful dream.

But something doesn’t feel right. Am I having a massive hallucination? Or is this a nightmare of hellish proportions? My stomach churns violently. Pinching my brows together, I attempt to concentrate on sound, but it’s completely out of the realm of possibility when I can’t hear over the fast whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of blood pounding in my head. My lips smack together trying to gather enough spit to wet my dry mouth.

A low, gravelly voice whispers, “Think she remembers?”

I lift my head in alarm and immediately regret it as this dark world spins and spins out of control. Thump. Pain. The moan that falls from my lips doesn’t even sound like me. It’s garbled, heart-wrenching to hear. It’s me. But is it real? Or am I dreaming up this demented fusion of sight and sound? Waves of uncertainty roll through me, unrelenting and ruthless. Oh god. Wake up, Lennon. Please.

“Don’t care. Who’s in?” a man’s voice says, raspy and without feeling.

My brow furrows. What’s happening? How did I get here? Where is here? There’s nothing stopping the fuzziness invading my head, and the room spins and spins, the lights behind my lids flashing chaotically, but when I force my eyes open, it gets worse. My surroundings are a wild array of jerking movement. Black masks. Deep-voiced murmurs of assent. Panic rises, and my breath accelerates. I have no concept of what’s real and what’s not. With my senses so dull, I can’t get a grasp on any of this. I squeeze my eyes shut. Please, please be a twisted, fucked-up nightmare. I feel sick. So sick. My heart races out of control.

Maybe if I try to sit up I’ll feel better. But I can’t. Try as I might, my body seems heavier than lead, my limbs weighted. All attempted movement is sluggish, like I’m underwater.

“Does she know?”

My stomach lurches at the quietly murmured question. Hot breath cascades over my cheek, one gust after another, making me shudder with revulsion. “Nah. She’d have said something.”

A moment later, my head is lifted, upper body propped up, and someone nudges a glass at the seam of my dry lips. “Here, pretty little thing. Have some of this.” Something cool and sweet passes between them. “That’s it. This’ll make you feel better.” That voice— Where have I heard it?

I sputter. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I shouldn’t swallow whatever they’ve poured into my mouth, but can’t help it, some of it goes down my throat. It’s a familiar burn, a taste I should remember, but can’t. What doesn’t make it into my stomach dribbles from the corners of my mouth and slides down my neck.

A husky groan sounds close to my ear and lips skim down the column of my throat, following the wet trails left behind. A hiccuped cry is wrenched from my chest as hands slide over me. No. My heart rate accelerates as air greets the skin of my stomach. I’m being moved around like a rag doll.

I try to lift my hand, but it never makes it from my side, I try to speak, but all that comes out is the barest whimper.

“Pour some right there.” Trickles of something wet land all over my body.

“Skin’s so smooth.” More droplets hit my throat, my chest, my belly, and down even farther in places I don’t want to think about. No. NO! Lennon wake the fuck up. Stop this!

“You’re not fucking kidding. I want to lick that entire bottle of bourbon out of her sweet belly button.” Another groan sounds at my ear, rumbling and deep. I twitch as a tongue trails along the shell of my ear.

“Love all these gorgeous curves.”

I know they’re touching me, but can’t make them stop, can’t move, can’t speak. Panic seizes me, all logical thought gone. I need to get out of here, but I can’t fight for the life of me. I try in vain to shake my head. No. Splotches of sparkling light encroach on my darkening vision. Juliette’s name is a whisper on the air, causing my heart to clench, just before everything goes black.